


Four times he stayed and one time she didn't let him

by moritzofsuburbia



Category: American Idiot - Green Day/Armstrong
Genre: Angst, Drug Addiction, F/M, I just started writing random bits and this happened, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 11:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5333201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moritzofsuburbia/pseuds/moritzofsuburbia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of moments between Jimmy and Whatsername.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four times he stayed and one time she didn't let him

Neither of them knew when the other moved to the city. One day, he didn't exist to her, and the next, the junkies out on the street were praising Saint Jimmy. One day, she wasn't even a vaguely remembered face in his mind, and the next, he was seeing her in the clubs, drinking and dancing with people as though she'd had friends and lovers in this place for years. Her charisma was as obvious as his, only difference was she didn't try to flaunt it.

What was her name, again?

Surely she'd given some kind of rushed introduction that night that he had crashed at her house, but he had been too drunk to remember. The girl disliked him immediately, he could remember that one thing through his drunken state, but she had at least had the heart to let him sleep off his high after a party that had ended up migrating to her place.

He woke up late the next morning to realize he had fallen on the floor in his sleep. He could hear her moving around in the next room over, probably throwing something together for breakfast. For whatever reason, she hadn't woken him up to kick him out yet. But he disappeared from the apartment before she could notice, anyway. No point in sticking around. He didn't want to get to know this one.

\-----

"Get the fuck away from me! Oh god, fuck, what's happening..."

"Calm down, you're just having a bad trip. Can you focus on looking at me right now? Sit down."

"Did you see that back there? The walls were melting, that's some fucked up shit–"

"We're outside now, see? Just sit down on the ground for a minute. Be quiet and breathe."

Maybe this would have been considered their first real conversation, if Jimmy wasn't intoxicated once again. Damn, what was it this time? She had learned by then that heroin was his poison of choice, but that whole thing about the walls melting, that sounded more like acid or some scary shit. "Hey, man, look at me. Do you need a ride home or something?" The words were out of her mouth before her brain processed them. She should have kept quiet. Didn't want to be anywhere near the guy, but leaving him here on the ground while he was rambling about his drug-induced hallucinations would have weighed on her conscience for the rest of the night. And then he was at it again, this time it was something about a thing that was flying through the sky, and oh god it was coming for them both, but it wasn't anything she needed to listen to.

"Alright, I'm sure you're sick of me, but until you aren't seeing flying monkeys in the sky–"

"They have scales. Are monkeys supposed to have scales? These ones sure do..."

"–I'm taking you to my place." She hauled him to his feet once more, wincing when chipped black nails took tight hold of her arm. She never trusted him, didn't ever plan on letting her guard down, the girl was too smart for that. She'd make him leave as soon as he was somewhat functional, but for now, let him run from his imaginary demons.

Suddenly it was easy to accidentally feel sorry for the asshole.

\-----

 _Oh, oh, oh,_ the steady rhythm of Johnny riding her, Jimmy could hear every sound through the paper thin bedroom wall. Would have banged on it and told them to pipe the fuck down, but this was her place, after all. Probably the first time he was here sober, now that he thought about it. Oh yes, he had all his senses fully functioning, present for the complete experience of his life being ruined one fuck at a time. Johnny was no longer listening to Jimmy when he stuck the needle in his arm and told him to avoid that rebel bitch, and instead spent more and more time away from the familiar comfort of the drugs and more and more time screwing the nameless whore.

The noises from the bedroom were increasing in volume, and Jimmy was gritting his teeth as his nails scratched at the track marks covering his arm, some old and some new, digging into the scarred and bruised skin...

_The bitch hates me just as much as I hate her. Of course she'd let us both stay here tonight, she knew they'd fuck, she knew I'd hear everything, she knew I'd realize she's stealing him away from me she knew she knew she knew_

_And she planned it all out, just like the sick conniving little slut that she is_

~~_She's stealing away my Jesus_ ~~

The rhythm of their moans and cries continued, and Jimmy felt too broken to move.

\-----

It was past 2 am when the Saint stumbled into her apartment– he knew where she kept the spare key by now. His companion's arm was slung around his thin shoulders, feet dragging because he could barely support his own weight. Johnny had come off his high and for whatever reason had started crying. Jimmy didn't want to have to deal with him in this condition, and besides, the kid had been whining about Whatsername again, might as well take him where he wanted to go if it would make him shut up. Maybe then she'd finally see how fucked up he was and decide to leave both of their lives for good.

Well, St. Jimmy could dream.

The sound of footsteps could soon be heard as she rushed into the room. "What the hell, what did you do? Is he okay?" Jimmy rolled his eyes, practically tossing Johnny's barely-conscious body onto the couch.

"He's fine, just out of his fucking mind after that last hit. Still wanted to come see his girlie, though. How romantic, right? So here we are." He plopped himself down at the end of the couch, propping his feet up on the small coffee table as he let his head fall back. Dragging Johnny all the way to the apartment wasn't exactly easy, and now he just wanted to get a drink and sit down and pretend he wasn't here– if this made the bitch angry, even better. She was already ruining whatever leftover possibility of happiness he had. Might as well take some opportunities to fuck with her happiness as well.

The girl was kneeling down next to the couch now, her hand on Johnny boy's arm. What was she, his concerned mother? "You know," she said, her words directed at Jimmy, "I think I like you better when you're high. At least then I know you're not being a terrible person on purpose. When you're sober, I can't say the same."

"You shut the fuck up," he muttered. Johnny's presence was the only thing keeping him from snapping and telling Whatsername off for everything she'd done. Everything she'd taken from him. She'd sucked Johnny in from the moment they first locked lips, hell, maybe in that moment she had sucked out his soul. It was Jimmy's own fault for throwing the boy in her direction, but how could he have known things would get this serious?

Johnny loved her. And Jimmy was determined not to show how deeply this fact cut him, so he narrowed his eyes at her, hiding pain behind gritted teeth. "Have fun with your junkie boyfriend. If you think he's gonna be able to love you normally when he's on all this shit, well, you're an idiot."

Her chocolate brown eyes suddenly grew watery. Tears, hot and angry, threatened to spill. "Fuck you," was all she said, her voice low with hatred and pain, but underneath that was fury. "Fuck you, Jimmy."

"That's Saint Jimmy," he corrected between his locked teeth before standing to go search for a drink in the fridge, leaving Whatsername by Johnny's side, still holding to his arm like she was trying to revive a dead man.

\-----

Until the knocks became loud enough to overpower the television, she didn't realize someone was at the door. Over the past few days or so she'd learned to drown out the sound. The fact that the noise was so loud and so continuous made it obvious it wasn't a simple visitor, which meant it was Jimmy again, and if she hadn't answered the door for him yet she certainly wasn't going to answer it now.

It had been exactly a week since Whatsername had dropped Johnny for good. He'd ultimately proven that the drugs took precedence in his mind over her, something that would have broken her heart if she hadn't learned to surround it with armor long ago. Damn, she was going to miss the boy more than she anticipated, but he was on his way to hitting rock bottom and she couldn't let him drag her down as well.

_Get out while it's still safe to do so._

She didn't see Johnny again after that ugly day. But then Jimmy came knocking, and when she refused to let him in, he called her a bitch and came back the next evening.

It was the third day of this routine and Whatsername was beginning to consider a restraining order.

"Goddamn it, look, I just need to talk." The words sounded forced out, like the voice was on the brink of breaking into sobs. Had to be an act. Either that or he was drunk. Saint Jimmy didn't cry. "Look, I know you hate my guts, and believe me, the feeling is mutual, but I need to know if you've seen Johnny."

"Why would I have seen him? I'm perfectly fine never seeing him again." She kept the door closed but glanced through the peephole, and saw Jimmy wiping at the mess of black eyeliner smeared beneath his eyes. So he _had_ been crying. The sight almost frightened her, like it was something that wasn't meant to be seen.

"He's gone. Disappeared days ago. Won't answer his phone or nothing. Fuck, please, just tell me you saw him somewhere, after last Friday–"

"No, I haven't seen your lost pet, now will you leave me the fuck alone? I swear, I'll call the police if you come back one more time."

He squeezed his eyes shut, rimmed in red and black. Tried for a moment to force back the threat of more oncoming tears. "His guitar is gone. Why would his guitar be gone?"

A sigh of resignation escaped her lips. "I don't know, Jimmy. Maybe he finally got smart and decided to leave you. Haven't you ruined enough of his life already? Just leave him alone. And leave me alone." She increased the volume of the television until she couldn't hear his words that followed.

The next night, he didn't come back. The days moved along as normally as they had before she ever crossed paths with Johnny or Jimmy.

It was a week or so later when she turned on that television to be greeted with a news story about a body that had been found by the bay. Police said it had laid there for a few days before being discovered. No known family that could be contacted, no witnesses or friends coming forth. Who would? Nobody was going to cry for a drug dealer with a bullet in his mouth. No one was going to mourn a heroin addict whose time had always been right on the verge of running out. His life had been a ticking time bomb that finally exploded with a bang.

Nobody would cry for the fallen saint, and so Whatsername did cry, uninvited tears that betrayed her when she tried to tell herself that she didn't care. _I don't care if you don't care._

_Does anyone care if nobody cares?_

He's gone home.


End file.
